Thursday, June 12, 2008

How do you beach?

During my first job out of college, I kept a little window open in the corner of my computer screen with a live beachcam of Waikiki Beach. I just checked, and it still plays Waikiki Baby and Rhythm of the Ocean ("Hear it calling your name ..." ) over and over and over, which is funny to me now. Anyway, when work was just too irritating, I'd click on the window and look at all the little people on vacation and daydream about my upcoming trip. (I believe this type of behavior is also known as "going to your happy place.") When I finally made it to Waikiki a few months later, I stood in front of that camera and waved encouragement (or gloated? not sure which) to whatever beleaguered office peon might be watching at that moment.

These days, my happy place is still the beach. After two sublime beach vacations in two weeks, I'm back in the office wishing for a live beachcam of the Outer Banks. But this time, I'm reading beach poetry, too ...

This first one is dedicated to Rachel and to walking until we can't walk anymore. In beaching and in life, I think I'm a walker.

The second is dedicated to John and his drip sand castles. And it is simply the essence of my very happy place.

Beach Glass
by Raymond A. Foss

How do you beach?
Sorry, don't want to get
Too personal
Just asking, to get a perspective
To put us on the same page.

Do you lay in place
drink in the rays, melt the stress?
Or maybe play – ball, Frisbee, or V-ball?

Not me. I walk, the length of the beach
Too restless to sit
Lost in my own thing
Looking for shells, people,
and beach glass.

Taking in the scene;
Hoping I remember where I left her
on my return.

Beach Sand
by Raymond A. Foss

Maybe it is the memories
the change of pace that brings us there
the sense of vacation
maybe the smell of the place
the sights of the gulls, the dunes, the grasses
but oh it is the feel of it,
the crunch and slide of it
the feeling of beach sand
so different from dirt, soil, loam
no, not earthy, moist, rich,
but oh so granular and gritty
even when wet,
moveable paper spreading under toes
sliding beneath the soles
smoothing my skin
clearing my mind
unburdening me of the rest
drawing me to the tactile, the feel
of beach sand

1 comment:

Ray Foss said...

Thanks for the posts. All of my poems are at Poetry Where You Live,